The Triangle
by LornaWinters
Summary: Captain Picard comes to the aid of a colony that will soon be the target of a Dominon attack. Stefan DeSeve gets out of prison and returns to the woman he loves, only to find she is in danger again. He also discovers that Commander Bochra has been busy while he was in the slammer. The sequel to "Distractions"
1. Prologue

_My dear Stefan,_

_It is with joy and eager anticipation that my brothers and I await your release next week. _

_This occasion gives me the opportunity to once again extend the invitation to come to Nua Breizh. No doubt you have many more exciting opportunities awaiting you. It is my hope, however, that the same loyalty that motivated you to save my life will entice you accept our offer of employment in our service._

_Whatever you decide, please keep in touch. It will be a pleasure to hear from you again._

_I remain your grateful and affectionate friend,_

_Guinevere Allaire_

Stefan DeSeve stepped out of the prison compound that had been his entire life for five long years. He took a deep breath. He was a free man now, and he knew exactly what he was going to do. In the few letters he had been allowed to receive—seven to be exact, including the one from yesterday's mail, Lady Guinevere Allaire had repeatedly reminded him there was a place waiting for him on Nua Breizh.

Guinevere…the only woman he had ever loved. He would do anything for her, endure anything for her. He treasured the image of her in his mind. If that amazing lady only knew how he felt…To tell her his feelings was what he wanted more than anything else in the universe…

But DeSeve decided to wait and to first assess the situation. Five years was a long time, after all. A lot could have changed in five years. His heart sank, as it had so many times before, when he reminded himself of the possibility that she might be married again.

It did not matter. He viewed himself as her knight in shining armor, her "Lancelot," as Geordi LaForge had teased him. He repeated his resolution to himself that he would not ruin both their lives by behaving like Lancelot, however. Whatever the situation, he would pledge himself once again to the service of his lady. Truth to be told, he had nowhere else to go. There were no other opportunities, no other jobs out there for him, being the ex-convict that he was.

_Then again_, he thought, as he had thought nearly every night in his cell, _she never mentioned getting married in any of her letters…_


	2. Chapter 1

Captain Jean-Luc Picard strolled through the streets of San Mihael, the capital city of Nua Breizh. It was just like stepping through time to an earlier, much less complicated age. And he heard French, or rather a dialect of French laced with old Gaelic, being spoken all around him. It was audibly different, but he could understand most of what was being said. "How delightful," he said, "though not at all what I was expecting."

Just behind him, Data was likewise taking in the scenery. "Indeed, sir? What were you expecting?"

"I was under the impression that they were interested only in martial and agricultural pursuits."

"That is a common mistake made when one does not know enough about a subject. The New Bretons also have an academic element in their culture," he reported. "There is a library just up the street, which boasts of a notable manuscript collection. And I am told there are many accomplished scholars here."

"Fascinating," Picard commented, "I can't wait to see it."

"Nor I, sir."

"Data, I do believe you are as giddy as a kid in a candy shop." Picard teased, hoping to take advantage of the android's naïveté.

"Goats are known to have an excessive appetite, sir. However," his expression became quizzical, "since I do not eat, I fail to understand the comparison."

Picard laughed openly. _It worked._

"Ah, you are attempting to jest with me, sir."

The cruelty had to stop. "Yes, Data," he said grinning, "I was.

Data at last said what he had been delaying for as long as possible, down to the last fraction of a second. "Captain, may I remind you we have an appointment with the regents."

Picard sighed. "Oh, very well, I suppose you're right."

Data paused. "Sir, would not the correct response be: 'touché'-?"

"Let's get going, Mr. Data."

"Yes, sir."

The Enterprise had responded to the planet's request for assistance. A Jem'Hadar attack unit was reportedly on its way. Although Nua Breizh had small warships and fighters (and its inhabitants built many more after they entered the war), there were no major planetary defenses, at least, no _technological _defenses. Fortunately, what the planet did have was an unusual magnetic field surrounding it. This field prevented energy weapons from functioning on the surface. It also acted as a transport inhibitor. As a result, any attackers would have to fly down to the surface in shuttles, and take the planet with less sophisticated means.

"The intelligence reports indicate that the Dominion forces will not be here for two more days," the android reassured him. "There should be ample time for you to see more of the city."

"Right, as usual, Mr. Data," said Picard. "I certainly hope so, anyway."

As they walked through the grand doors, they were greeted immediately by Lord Tierney Allaire. "Welcome to San Mihael, Captain Picard. I trust you enjoyed your walk through our fair city."

"Immensely, my Lord," he answered in his native French, remembering to use the ancient title. "You must be very proud of your accomplishments."

Tierney beamed. "Yes, Captain, we are," the regent replied in the same language.

They followed the lord into the war council chamber. There, Lord Cahal was waiting for them, along with—Tomalak! _ The proverbial monkey wrench_, Picard thought, _will wonders never cease?_

"Ah, Captain Picard. I told you we would meet again," the Romulan said, with an air of triumph. "You remember Commander Bochra, of course," he gestured to his subordinate.

Picard smiled diplomatically, "Of course." He had the distinct feeling, that foreboding omen, that things had just gotten more complicated.

Just then, the door opened. A lovely woman with long, ebony tresses entered the room. "Sorry I'm late," she said, "I was explaining to our new charge his duties."

Tierney smiled affectionately, "Gentlemen: allow me to present my sister, the Lady Allaire." To the lady, he said, "This is Captain Picard and Mr. Data of the Federation; General Tomalak, and," changing to a more neutral tone, "you already know Commander Bochra."

Her expression lit up visibly. "Certainly I remember Commander Bochra. It is good to see you again."

Clearly flustered, he nodded his head respectfully, putting his hands behind his back, "Milady Guinevere, likewise." Was that an attraction between them? Picard wondered. The brothers did not seem to be enthusiastic about it. They did realize that the Romulans were there to help them, however, and they were not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Before the situation could turn awkward, Lord Cahal tactfully began the parley. "Gentleman; my Lady: we have a most difficult task facing us…"


	3. Chapter 2

It was an enchanting night. In the air was the alluring scent of blossoms, as well as the sweet smoke of campfires. It was as though an ancient magic was in the air… From the moment he had arrived on this world, Picard's imagination had been captured. The only other place he could compare it to was the Ba'ku planet in the "Briar Patch." The primary difference, of course, was that Anij was not there. And there was the fact that the Ba'ku were not particularly fond of the arts of war, as were the Nua Breizhians.

Picard was in his dress uniform, together with the rest of the bridge crew. They were attending an outdoor reception in their honor. It was also in honor of the Romulans, since they had also come to help defend Nua Breizh. With defenses already in place, there was nothing to do but wait. A gathering with music and dancing, it was insisted, would be good for morale.

Upon arrival, the guests were greeted with a drinking ritual, in which a cup was passed around the group, and each person was meant to take a sip. The Romulans participated reluctantly, but they said nothing. A band began to play a series of rustic reels, rousing marches, and lovely waltzes.

Picard walked over to the bar. "What can I get you, _Capitaine_?" the bartender asked. Picard ordered a glass of wine from the local vineyard. Tomalak was already there, enjoying his glass of Romulan ale. "Romulan ale is the last thing I'd expect to see here, General," Picard commented, thinking that an opening remark about the weather would be too obviously contrived.

"Ah, but Captain, we have been trading with Nua Breizh for nearly fifty years now," Tomalak replied matter-of-factly. "Not many of us have actually set foot here, however; which is a shame because it is such a charming planet. I really had no idea." He drained his glass. Picard had a feeling that everyone there was going to end up perhaps drinking more than they should. Dr. Crusher prepared for what she believed was inevitable, and brought an alcoholic antidote with her.

"Yes, I had an opportunity to see some of the city earlier. It's quite remarkable." Picard attempted to keep up the dialogue.

"This place is just full of surprises. It's ironic isn't it? I never thought we would ever share a drink together at a party, though I dreamt of it once."

"Oh, really?" _This is interesting. What exactly do Romulans dream about, anyway?_

"Yes, we were talking about what we each do in our spare time."

"Well, Tomalak, just what do you do in your spare time?"

The Romulan laughed jovially, "Why, I used to plot against you, to tell the truth. Now I am consumed with plotting against the Dominion. If I had the opportunity, I should like to try fishing."

"I'm told the seas here are excellent for fishing. Perhaps we should try it after the battle?" Picard could not believe he just said that, but it was already out. He really needed to be careful. The alcohol here was real, not the replicated liquid that his brother Robert said had dulled his senses.

"I would like that very much. Enjoy your evening, Captain," Tomalak raised his drink and went over to Lord Tierney to start another conversation.

_That was easier than I thought it would be,_ Picard thought. He heard someone clear his throat behind him. "Captain Picard?" Turning, he recognized Stefan DeSeve. The man looked markedly different. It was the haircut, he decided. Yes, the last time Picard saw him, his hair had been cut to conform to a Romulan style. Now it was closely cropped, which made him look like a different man altogether. He looked less worn and tired than he had previously.

"I just wanted to thank you for your efforts on my behalf," he said.

"Oh, don't mention it," replied Picard automatically, still surprised to see him there. He mentally went back to LaForge's informal report about the escape from the Cardassians, in which the engineer mentioned DeSeve's more personal reason for leaving Romulus. That report gave credence to Picard's belief that DeSeve's original explanation had sounded canned, rehearsed. There was a sad remorse in that wayfarer's eyes that he unsuccessfully tried to hide. To be sure, there were elements of truth in his profession about "matters of perspective," but Picard could tell that there were deeper reasons DeSeve chose not to share. _"And on Romulus," _he later stated, _"you learn not to volunteer information."_

"I suppose you weren't expecting to find me here," DeSeve chuckled nervously.

"No," Picard admitted cautiously, "but the Allaires are very generous. No doubt they are grateful to you for rescuing their sister."

"They have given me a second chance, and I don't intend to waste it."

"I'm glad to hear it," Picard said. "See that you don't." He truly hoped that DeSeve meant what he said, but he until he saw otherwise he would keep his expectations neutral.


	4. Chapter 3

"Hey, Bochra, Good to see you! Look at you: a commander of your own ship now. Congratulations." Geordi LaForge was grinning from ear to ear.

The commander was equally enthusiastic, though more reserved. "Thank you. You have also changed. I almost did not recognize you without your visual device…how…?"

"Optic implants," explained LaForge.

"They can make you see better?" he asked, cocking his head.

"Well, actually, yes. But enough about me. How have you been?"

Bochra shrugged, "I am alive."

"Hey, you and me both. Let's hope it lasts." He raised his glass, "To friendship."

"Friendship," the other echoed, "And victory!" As he spoke, the fiddler began a romantic Acadian waltz. The rest of the band chimed in after the soloist's introduction.

"Well said, my man," said LaForge, touching his glass to that of his comrade. The two drank until the alcohol was gone. When they finished, LaForge noticed Bochra's eye fix onto a point behind him. He turned to see Lady Guinevere, with her arms entwined in an allemande with DeSeve, dancing to the waltz. "You really like her, don't you, Bochra?"

Caught off guard, the other straightened. "I don't know what you're talking about, LaForge," he insisted.

"Yeah…and the fact that your heart rate increases every time you look at her means nothing, right?"

The Romulan's silence confirmed that LaForge's surmise was correct. "So why don't you just tell her?" he encouraged.

"It's…complicated," said Bochra reluctantly.

_He's jealous_, LaForge realized. "Why? You worried about DeSeve?"

"DeSeve," he scoffed, "He is the least of my concerns."

"Look, Bochra, I'm not an expert on women," LaForge treaded cautiously, "but I can tell you right now that nothing's gonna happen unless you make a move yourself."

Bochra closed his eyes and composed himself. _Oops_, LaForge thought, _I think I made him mad._ "I appreciate your advice, Geordi, but you don't fully understand the situation."

LaForge sighed, "Hey…I'm sorry. I drank a little more than I planned. I didn't mean to pry. I was just trying to help."

Bochra's defensive expression softened. "There is nothing to forgive. I, too, am inebriated." He then smiled mischievously, which made him resemble an elf. "Let us have another drink. We may not survive the upcoming battle, after all."

LaForge grinned again. "You're on!"


	5. Chapter 4

The waltz finished and the dancers applauded. Bochra watched as the male dancers honored their partners. DeSeve took Guinevere's arm and gallantly led her to the edge of the terrace. He got her a drink, and they began to chat while the next dance started.

It was clear that Guinevere was particularly fond of dancing. Bochra remembered that she danced many of the dances at the party at Quark's on DS9 earlier that year. DeSeve had likewise discovered the lady's affinity, and he was milking it for all it was worth. The fact that the entire purpose of the previous dance seemed to be coquetry merely for its own sake was yet another element in DeSeve's favor. He probably chose that specific dance with that aim in mind. _So he is an opportunist, as well as a traitor_, Bochra thought with disgust. He knew nothing of Earth dances, or any dancing of any kind for that matter. Romulans did not dance, and he was not about to make a clod of himself by attempting to do so.

DeSeve at least had manners enough to realize it was rude to monopolize one person for a long period of time. He concluded the conversation, debonairly kissed her hand, and then left to go mingle with the rest of the crowd. Even though that was a Nua Breizhian custom Bochra had previously seen, it annoyed him to see DeSeve had found yet something else to use to his own advantage.

Another faster dance ensued. She did not join in the dance this time. Now was his chance. Guinevere had sought him out at the last event. He decided that this time _he_ would be the first to speak. Straightening his uniform, he boldly marched over to where she was standing.

"Commander," she greeted him sweetly, "I've wanted to talk to you ever since you came."

"My Lady," he saluted.

"We seem to be attending the same parties lately," she observed whimsically. Her bewitching eyes seemed to dance to the time of the music, as well as to the beating of his heart.

"You keep inviting me," he responded confidently, offering his glass to her. For a instant, he was afraid he had somehow not performed the ritual correctly. Or worse, she would refuse to acquiesce. But she smiled and took a drink, clearly pleased.

"You're a quick study," she said, stroking his ego. Scarcely avoiding the trap in time, he answered modestly, "I have had more than ample opportunities to learn." She was testing him. Had he passed? She returned his glass, and her fingers fluttered when they touched. Bochra pretended to ignore it and completed the procedure. So he _had _passed the test. _She is a drawn to me as I am to her_, he discovered as he finished the draught of liquor.

Guinevere met his eyes seriously this time. "I appreciate that you kept your promise to visit us."

"Promise? But the war is not over yet. It was a command that brought me here. I have every intention of keeping my word, presuming your invitation still stands?"

"Of course it does," she said as the fiddler brought the dance to a conclusion. With the sound of the applause, DeSeve reappeared. He gave the Romulan a civil (though it was barely passable as such) nod of acknowledgement, and requested the honor and pleasure of the next reel with the lady. "Please excuse me, Commander," she said politely, as she was led away. DeSeve was playing a dangerous game—he had to know that. Now it was personal. Sadly, challenging him to a duel was not an option for Bochra at the moment. Not until _after_ the battle, at least…

Bochra watched as Guinevere frolicked around the dance floor with his rival. The dancers linked their arms together and formed intricate figures, seemingly without effort, as though they were joyfully weaving a tapestry. Guinevere laughed with delight along with the other dancers as they bounced and clapped their hands to the lively reel. It melted his heart to see her in her merrymaking, knowing full well that this could be the one of the last nights she or anyone else would be alive.

What if he did tell her his feelings, and were killed in the approaching skirmish? It would wound her grievously, perhaps beyond healing. He remembered what he told Cahal on DS9. The realization made victory all the more necessary. Now he had a more important reason to win. Bochra vowed privately to himself that he would fight for her, and he would win the freedom of Nua Breizh—for her.


	6. Chapter 5

Guinevere rigorously performed her exercises. The quandaries of the previous night tumbled through her mind. The unfortunate dummies and targets would pay the price for her agitation.

Stefan's behavior had hit her like a bombshell. Was that love she saw in those pale, blue eyes as he led her in that spellbound waltz last night? Yes, it was. He was attempting to court her, she was certain of it. This epiphany should not have come as a surprise to her, however. It was hinted at on numerous occasions, now that she thought about it. There was no indication on Romulus; he just left without a word. But she was already married to Tævek-of course he wouldn't have said anything. The fact that he rescued her suggested that he must have loved her, though. _"Call me Stefan,"_ he had said ardently. Guinevere groaned. How could she have been such a simpleton?

But there was another question: how exactly did she feel about it? Despite his ex-convict/traitor status, he was a gentle and caring man. She genuinely liked him. He would be a kind and indulgent husband. He practically worshiped her, and would always love her no matter what. Stefan understood her, possibly better than she understood herself. He had been loyal to her for so long, had saved her life—she had lost count how many times. And he wanted her hand as his reward for his fidelity. He had more than earned it.

Yet Stefan was not her match in age or wit. He was so much older than she was, about fifteen years older by her reckoning. He was by no means an idiot, but his conversation left much to be desired. In his opinion, she was always right, even when she was wrong. No, she decided, she did not love him. But how could she tell him without breaking his heart? He did not deserve that. Was it possible she could grow to love him?

And then there was Bochra, her fatal attraction. That was another heartache just waiting to happen. There was no way they could be together, she reminded herself. Return to Romulus could only mean certain death for her. And while the Romulan admired and respected her traditions and people, she did not think it was likely that he would sacrifice his own ways.

Her thoughts were arrested when Picard entered the room. "Oh, I'm sorry for the intrusion. I was just looking for a place to exercise."

"Not at all, Captain," she said politely, "you are most welcome to exercise here."

Picard smiled. "You're an excellent swordswoman. It's a shame you won't be fighting with us tomorrow."

"My people need me to defend the city, if the battle should go ill," she said.

"I can think of no one better for the job, my Lady," he said kindly. "A single person can turn the tide, you know. But I don't think you have to worry about that. I'm sure help will arrive on time."

"Thank you, Captain, you are a wise man. Enjoy your exercise," she said, as she left the hall.

Despite Picard's assurances, Guinevere did not have the same confidence in the Federation's promise of aid that Picard had. She believed he was telling the truth, of course, but from his own point of view. She was not so optimistic when it came to the leaders of the Federation actually putting their money where their mouths were. That was one of the reasons there were centuries of mistrust between the two governments. No, she knew they would be on their own for the first part of the battle, if not the entire battle. She wished for the best, but expected, and was fully prepared for, the worst.

_One person can turn the tide…_That gave her an idea. It was a daring and very foolish thing to consider. But what did she have to lose?


	7. Chapter 6

Picard clasped a gunpowder rifle in his hands. Everyone was where they needed to be. Riker was left to command the _Enterprise_ and deal with the orbiting ships. Oh, Riker had raised his usual objections about "a first officer's duty," and "regulations," etc., etc. Picard overruled him. He felt a sentiment for these people, a duty to help them if he could.

In the city, Doctor Crusher was preparing to receive wounded at a second hospital. LaForge and Troi were on the _Enterprise_ with Riker. Data was at his side. All was ready, but there was still no word from the reinforcements that had been promised to him. Perhaps he had been a bit overenthusiastic about them arriving on time…

General Tomalak was on the Romulan warbird contending with the Jem'Hadar ships alongside the _Enterprise_. Commander Bochra was assigned to defend the planet on the ground. In addition to the Romulan soldiers a unit of Reman slave soldiers was waiting for the assault. The Remans had a reputation for being fierce warriors. It was a wonder the Romulans had not had many more revolts. Picard was certain that it was only a matter of time before the Remans produced their own Spartacus or Toussaint L'Ouverture.

On that same hilltop, not far from San Mihael, Guinevere Allaire stood rigidly. She was disguised as a soldier of her people. She looked down on what would very soon be the decisive battlefield, perhaps the only battlefield she would ever see. In the sky above, the Jem'Hadar shuttles were descending to the ground. _Maybe this wasn't such a good idea_, she thought, as a wave of nausea from her stomach moved up her throat. _No!_ She forced herself to regain her control, _I must have courage. My people need me to be brave. One person can turn the tide…_

It was fortunate for her that this would be what many considered to be "primitive warfare." The more modern warfare that her brothers were fighting lately was so very distant from her own knowledge. Combat with the sword—that was what she understood.

Lord Tierney gave a rousing speech from the saddle of his horse. Guinevere had decided not to ride. Horsemanship was not one of her strengths. She turned her head away as her brother rode past her, calling upon the soldiers of Nua Breizh to defend their homes, their families, and their honor. Her brother would not recognize her, she assured herself. She was wearing a helmet like everyone else. No one would recognize her.

Far to the left of the line, Bochra was off in the distance giving his troops a similar speech. The _Enterprise_ crew was on the far right, and were likewise preparing for combat with their recently replicated projectile weapons. Even with this massive allied force, there was not much of a chance for them if the reinforcements did not come very soon.

The soldier beside her coughed. "Stay close to me, no matter what happens," he said, "I will protect you." Guinevere knew that voice—Stefan! _How did he know?_ she wondered, both furious and surprised. But then she realized that it did not matter. Stefan would keep her secret. She knew he meant what he said, every word of it, just as he had meant every word of his oath as her bodyguard. The memory of his words on the day they met echoed in her heart._ "I pledge my life to Ǽselin. I swear from henceforth to serve and protect her until my death, or until I am released from this oath."_ It was all too much. _Alright, Stefan_, she promised silently, _if we survive,_ _I'll marry you_.

The shuttles landed. The Jem'Hadar poured out like ferocious ants. They would reach the line soon—too soon. Guinevere braced herself for the inevitably fierce collision that would ensue, the clash that would decide the fate of Nua Breizh.

* * *

The tempest of battle railed on, and on, and on, for what seemed like an age. Staying alive was far more difficult than Guinevere ever could have imagined. Everything she had heard about the Jem'Hadar seemed to have been grossly understated. They were so hell-bent on destruction, the destruction of her world, of her people, of everything she knew and loved. And it seemed likely that they would succeed.

The fantastically copious amounts of blood ran like small rivers—literally—it was just like what was described in the ancient epics. And the carnage, the unspeakable violence, was more terrible than her worst nightmares. She had read on numerous occasions in her books that war changed men, and now she fully understood why. Only now did she understand why her people, her brothers in particular, did not want their women to fight. Guinevere before had always respected and kept that tradition, though her personal feelings rebelled against it. As much as she did not like it, however, in all honesty she had to force herself to acknowledge that perhaps they were right. She never wanted to be in another battle again—that was, assuming she survived.

But she was still alive, thanks to Stefan. A swift glance to her left told her that her brothers were still alive. The Romulans were too far away to be seen clearly, so she had no idea how Bochra was faring. She admitted to herself that, although she had done exceptionally well in her training, she was undeniably no soldier. If her protector had not been at her side, she would have been dead not long after the onslaught began.

That stolen glimpse of her brothers was, however, not as nimble as she thought. A Jem'Hadar blade, partially deflected at the last instant, grazed the right side of her back. She shrieked as pain seared through her body, and she fell to her knees. Her adversary turned, altering his course to finish the job. Guinevere saw her life flash before her eyes as the soldier rushed back toward her with his savage weapon. Before she understood what happened, Stefan was on the ground, with the spear protruding menacingly from his body.

"STEFAN!" she screamed, when she came to her senses. At first Guinevere refused to believe the surreal events transpiring before her very eyes. Adrenaline surged through her veins, turning her despair into wrath. Reaching for her sword, she lunged toward the enemy who had mortally wounded her most devoted friend. Dexterously, she took off his head.

The other Jem'Hadar around her turned their attention away, and they began to move to the other side of the field. Pivoting in wonderment, she saw Federation shuttles cascading from the sky. The long awaited reinforcements were arriving. The tide was turned…

Guinevere carefully pulled Stefan behind a fallen horse, just in case there were any stragglers. "Stefan, the reinforcements are here! Victory is certain!" She removed his helmet, and then her own. Her raven locks spilled down upon her armor.

Stefan was choking in his own blood. "Then you, and your people are safe…that's all that matters…I love you, Lady Guinevere…I've loved you from the very first time I saw you. I have loved…no other woman but you. My death has meaning…because it is for you."

"No," she shook her head desperately, while tears began streaming down her face, "you must not let go! The fighting will be over soon, and I'll get you to a doctor. I'm going to save _you_ now, Stefan!"

"You…already have," his voice grew softer with each word. "You gave me…clarity of purpose…something I have searched for my entire life…my beautiful Guinevere" he tenderly caressed her cheek "…don't cry..."

"Stefan, no," she rasped weakly. Guinevere felt her own vision fading as Stefan relinquished his hold on life. And she wept, wept bitterly, as the darkness of the impending abyss engulfed her.


	8. Chapter 7

Guinevere awoke in her bedroom. The sunlight streamed pleasantly through the open windows. A gentle breeze blew the curtains.

Commander Bochra sat in a chair beside her bed, flipping through one of her books. He was quite amused by whatever he was reading, chuckling quietly to himself. When he noticed that she was awake, relief poured over his face. "I beg forgiveness," he said sheepishly, "but I couldn't resist reading some of your books. I have always been curious about your culture. This collection is most impressive. You must be very learned. I am a soldier…I don't have much time for study."

She smiled weakly. Then her last memories came to her. "Stefan?" she asked hopefully.

Bochra's cheerful expression became serious. "He is gone, Lady." A pang of sorrow welled up in her heart, matched by the pain that shot through her back when she moved.

"You must not distress yourself," he said gently. "You are still recovering from your injuries." He paused. "Your brothers wanted to be informed when you awoke. I will go and tell them." The Romulan stood up. Affection was in his eyes. "I am impressed by what you did. It was glorious. You are without a doubt the bravest person I have ever known."

"Thank you," she answered softly. He seemed to want to say more, but he hesitated when he perceived that she was still upset by the news of DeSeve's death. Was that concern on his face? Was he debating with himself again? Guinevere was too exhausted and depressed to think about it.

Instead of saying whatever it was he had previously been thinking about, he flashed a charming, flirtatious smile, and she half expected him to wink at her. "Why, Milady, I was merely telling the truth. I shall return shortly with Lords Tierney and Cahal." With his usual, martial bow, he left the room.

Guinevere sank into her pillow. Stefan was dead. Dead! Fatigue stopped her from trying to sort through the melancholy and confusion she felt whirling through her mind. She fell back into sleep with tears in her eyes.

* * *

The next morning, she was well enough to play her piano. She had not played since the Dominion threatened to invade her home, and she longed for her music.

_It was down by the Sally Gardens, my love and I did meet._

_She crossed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet._

_She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree,_

_But I was young and foolish, and with her did not agree._

Guinevere stopped playing when she saw Bochra standing in the doorway. "Please continue," he said, "I enjoy listening to you. It is good to see you are feeling better."

"That was the end of the song," she answered, "do come in."

"You sing and play, you dance," he began as he entered the room, "speak several languages; are an avid reader as well as a notable swords mistress; a leader of your people, who challenges praetors and senators in her spare time; and…Oh, yes, and you slay Jem'Hadar. My Lady," he laughed in wonder, "is there anything you _don't_ do?"

"I'm a terrible cook," she said, pouting, "and I don't like riding horses."

Bochra chuckled again. "Those are forgivable offences. I like your song, by the way. It has an enchanting melody."

"It was Stefan's favorite," she said sadly.

"You cared about him very much, didn't you?" he asked gingerly.

After a moment's pause, she responded, "Yes. I did. He was my most faithful friend."

"Did you love him?" Bochra asked frankly, putting his hands behind his back, as if he was bracing for an impact.

"Not in the way he loved me," she said softly as guilt filled her heart, "but by the time I discovered it, it was too late."

The Romulan's form relaxed. "You avenged him. And now you must move on," he said kindly. "It is what he would have wanted you to do."

She nodded mournfully, "I know. And I'm sure I will with time." Then she changed the subject so that she would not start to cry. "Cahal told me it was you who found me and brought me to the infirmary the day before yesterday. Thank you, Bochra."

"I would do it again without hesitation, my Lady," he pursed his lips together. "…It mortified me to see you lying there. You were covered in blood. At first, I thought you were dead. And I didn't know how I was going to live."

Her eyes widened as the commander began to pace. "I have been recalled to Romulus. My ship is leaving tomorrow morning. This is not the most opportune time, I know. But I may not get another opportunity to speak to you before I have to leave." His stride halted, and he took a deep breath. "You have captured my heart, Guinevere. I have never met another woman like you before, and I don't think I ever shall. I have wanted to tell you ever since we met again on DS9," he declared amorously.

Guinevere was speechless. Once again, she was not prepared for something she never expected to happen, though she had often yearned for this moment. She was still weak from the loss of blood, and she strained to keep from trembling. Her heart beat rapidly, as Bochra continued his confession.

"I tell you this because I can no longer continue to deceive you by hiding the true extent of my affection for you." He sighed. "I have your friendship and good regard. I ask for nothing more." Unable to bear the awkwardness of her silence, he turned to leave.

"Bochra, wait! Please don't go!" she entreated, standing up from the piano. The Romulan stopped in the doorway, but he did not turn to face her. "You didn't even ask me if I returned your feelings," she said, dismayed, as she took a step toward him.

He clenched his fists together, and turned his head slightly. "Do you?" he warily asked.

"Yes," she said sincerely, "I do return your feelings. That was why I could not love Stefan the way he wanted, because I was so much in love with you."

Bochra turned finally. "Truly?" he asked, still cautiously holding his hands behind him, but with a spark of hope in his eyes.

"Yes," she repeated breathlessly. The combination of emotional strain and recent physical trauma began to take its toll. Her knees quivered and the laceration on her back ached again. She felt lightheaded and struggled to stand. Bochra rushed over to keep her from falling. "Forgive me, Guinevere" he said as he held her in his powerful arms, "I did not mean to distress you. You are still healing. Sit now." He scooped her up and brought her back to the piano seat. "Do you feel better now?" he asked with a thin, yet smitten smile, as he brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

She gazed longingly into his eyes. "But how can we ever be together?"

"I have often wondered that myself," he answered.

"You know I can never return to Romulus. And when the war is over, there will be no need for the Romulan military to come back here."

"We will simply have to conquer your planet, then," he replied nonchalantly. Laughing wickedly at her indignant expression, he held her hands so that she could not slap him. "I jest, of course, my Lady! I have a proposition, if you are not too angry to listen. Clearly Nua Breizh is very dear to you. The relationship between our governments has never been hostile. Let your home be my home, too."

Guinevere could hardly contain her joy. "You would do that for me?" she said as her eyes began to fill with tears.

"I would do anything for you, my Lady," he insisted. "But I cannot resign my commission until after the war," he sadly countered. "Like you, I have a duty to my people, and I cannot abandon them when they need me the most. You would do the same in my place, would you not?"

"I was brought up to understand the importance of duty, Bochra," she said bravely. "I understand completely. And yes, I would do the same if our roles were reversed."

"Then," he said as he lovingly took her hand in his, "I will return after the war, and I will ask you to marry me, my fascinating and delightful Lady Guinevere."

"And I will say yes, my dashing and charming Commander Bochra."


End file.
